The hardest thing to convince Loki to do was cut his hair. I too, felt that it was a crime, but after doing some reading up on the guy and finding out who he was (and what he'd done in New York a few years ago) I realized that he was far too recognizable. Only a god could pull off hair like that and have it look so flawless all the time.
I'd gotten him to make the switch over to suits and trench coats easily once I over-indulged his own love of himself. I raved about how amazing his figure was in the outfits, and although he told me shut up because he already knew how good he looked, I didn't miss the satisfied glint in his green eyes. I would also be lying if I said that he didn't truly look absolutely drool-worthy in normal human clothes.
But his hair? He had nearly a full-on temper tantrum about it. I had to flip over the card table in our rented flat to hide behind as he hurled balls of green fire and rose-decorated china at me, but finally, he agreed to let me take him to the salon. He did insist that I could not be inside to influence the style of his new look, relying solely on the opinion of the English hairdresser. I was relieved to have a few moments without the pretentious god breathing down my neck to grab a cup of tea in the small shop next door.
Inexplicably but not unpleasantly, I had found that living in London suited me incredibly well. Loki was taxing, but he did have his good moments. He and I had spent innumerable hours in the bookshops around the city, browsing and trying to get him accustomed to the culture. He adapted rather more quickly than I'd expected, very rapidly being able to interact reasonably with people on the streets and in shops. I felt like a proud mother when he began apologizing to people on the streets when he walked into them, or when he smiled and offered me his arm. He was learning, and to be honest, he'd become a better human than most real humans.
I leaned down over my cuppa and breathed in the steaming aroma, closing my eyes and letting the stiff muscles in my neck let go. Just when I felt myself beginning to slip into a deep half-sleep, I heard a tap on the rain spattered window next to me. I shook off my drowsiness, looking up toward the noise and nearly spilling my tea.
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The hairdresser had gone shorter than I expected, and to my growing delight, Loki's once long hair had bounced up into tight curls when it was trimmed short. He grinned at my wide-eyed expression, taking pleasure in my apparent shock and speechlessness. After hefting his wide umbrella higher on one shoulder, he winked at me and jogged over to the little shop's front door. The small tinkle of the bell sounded when he entered, and I watched, mesmerized, as the disguised god shook out his umbrella and closed it up, straightened the cuffs on his trench coat, and sauntered over to me.
"Well, pet?" He slid gracefully into the wire seat across from me and clasped his hands together. "Am I mortal enough?"
"I wish you were so I could flirt with you." the comment slipped out before I could stop it.
Loki cocked his head to the side. "Of the mortal slang, I haven't come across such a word as 'flirting', and although it sounds remarkably akin to 'flatulent'..." his eyes got that mischievous glint in them whenever he was about to humiliate me. "Something tells me by the rouge on your cheeks, that its meaning is something far more compromising."
